


and so the dragons dance

by TheEagleGirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And Dany doesn't know she's a Targaryen, Daenerys and Viserys grew up in Dorne, F/M, Jon was crowned king and Ned was his regent, Robert and Rhaegar killed each other on the trident, but! there's a tourney, guess who fate will bring together?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 21:12:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17067218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEagleGirl/pseuds/TheEagleGirl
Summary: He was raised to be the king of Westeros. She was raised in secret, not knowing who she truly was.Fate still conspires to bring the last Targaryens together.





	and so the dragons dance

**Author's Note:**

> **A few established things in this AU:**  
>  -Robert and Rhaegar kill each other--Robert kills Rhaegar on the Trident, but dies of a wound inflicted on him a few days later  
> -Ned and Jon Arryn take King's Landing before people know Robert is dead  
> -Ned goes to Dorne and finds Lyanna, who gives birth to Jon and dies  
> -Ned brings Cat down to KL while he is Jon’s regent, Benjen doesn’t join the watch because he’s the Stark in Winterfell and marries Dacey  
> -Dany was rescued from Dragonstone with Viserys and taken to Dorne

“Prince Doran,” Areo Hotah says from the doorway, his longaxe at the ready by his side. “Your brother Oberyn has arrived in the palace.”

Doran raises his eyes from the pools of the water gardens, the shrieking children playing below. “How is he?”

Areo has never held anything back from Doran, but he looks almost hesitant now, perhaps choosing his words carefully. _He’d never have held back before Elia died._ “In a rage, my prince. He is tearing through the east rooms as we speak, looking for you and threatening any of my guardsmen that come near.”

Doran leans back, eyes closing. “Of course he is.” He’d known how Oberyn would react. He’d known Oberyn would come home howling for blood, angry and confused. He’d _hoped_ , perhaps, that his journey back from Essos would afford him enough time to cool his temper, give them time to talk, to mourn their sister together. He’d hoped the anger would wait till later, till the grief had run its course. _Now is not the time, dear brother. We must hold strong, and anger will not help us yet._

“My prince,” Areo begins, “my men can lock him up, take his weapons and place him in his apartments until he is calm, when you are ready to receive him.”

Doran shakes his head. “My brother will poison and kill five of your men before you could defeat him. Better to bring him to me now. Oberyn will not harm me, not truly.” _Not physically_ , Doran does not add. His accusing eyes and words can pierce in a way that will hurt far more.

He hears his brother howling for blood before he sees him. Areo holds him at axe-point outside the room until Oberyn relinquishes his knives and sword, and then he is stalking into the room, face wild.

In the center of the room, though, Oberyn stops dead. “Doran,” he says, voice broken. Confused. “Elia...her _children_ …they’re all _dead_.”

It takes all of Doran’s will to keep his eyes from watering, his face stone. “I know,” he whispers. “Every day I wake, it is the first thing I think of. I know.”

It has only been four moons since Elia’s death--her murder--and Doran has felt it in every moment, every breath. The heaviness lies on his chest when he lays abed at night, Mellario besides him. It threatens to choke him when he eats. He only forgets when he watches the children at their play, carefree and young, and even that is only a temporary salve to his pain.

Oberyn’s eyes have fire in them, but behind that Doran can see that same heaviness, that same heartbreak that has made itself home in his soul.

“She is _dead_ ,” Oberyn repeats, nearly spitting, “and you sit _here_ , watching children play. Where is the war council? Where are our spears, rushing to kill the men that raped her? _Murdered_ her? Killed her children?”

“There is no war council because we have lost the war,” Doran says softly. “There are no spears rushing through the Prince’s Pass to King’s Landing because we would surely lose and die. We are alone in this conflict now, my brother, and wars are not won alone.”

Doran can see the moment Oberyn’s loss turns into fury. “You would let the man who did this to our sister live?” he starts, deadly soft.

“No,” Doran says forcefully. “The Mountain has been seized by the rebel’s men--the King’s men now, I suppose. He’s being held in the black cells, awaiting justice.”

“It was not the _Mountain_ that gave the order,” Oberyn counters, still quiet, still deadly. Behind him, Doran sees Areo register the shift, and hold more tightly to his axe. “And I do not want this king’s justice. I want _revenge_ .” Oberyn stalks around the room, restless energy growing from his anger. “The brother I know would want to avenge our sister as well, those horrors that were done to her. Who has taken your _cock_ and stuffed it down your throat, Doran?? This _pretender_ on the throne, this child who will sit where our nephew was supposed to sit! These men that were complicit in our sister’s death! You are content to give them their peace?” Oberyn’s voice rises. “If you do not wish for war, I cannot believe you wish to be part of a kingdom that brought about her death. Dorne joined the Seven Kingdoms willingly, after throwing back the invaders for years. We can be independant again!”

“No. We cannot.”

“Damn you!” Oberyn shouts, slamming his fists down on Doran’s desk. Areo makes to move forward, but Doran shakes his head minutely. “How can you _sit_ here and give them _peace_? How can you not want to march to King’s Landing and kill every last one of them? Do you not bear our dead sister any love?”

At that, Doran looks up sharply. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he hisses. “While you were off cavorting and adventuring off in Essos, I was _here_. When Aerys kept our sister and her children hostage so the Dornish army would fight his wars for him, it was me that answered his call. It was me who lay up at night wondering what news I would hear of Elia every single day, wondering if the Mad King had killed her off at last. It was me who heard of her death months before you did, who had to calm Dorne and find ways to heal our wounds. I bear her all the love in the world, Oberyn, and that is why we must keep the _peace_.”

Oberyn’s face crumples. “Our sister,” he says brokenly. “We cannot sit by and do nothing.”

Doran stands, crosses his desk to hold his brother’s face in his hands. “The realm has been bled dry, Oberyn. We cannot stand another war right now.”

Oberyn blinks, and swallows. “We do not need a war--give me leave to go to King’s Landing and--”

“And what?” Doran interrupts. “You’ll kill a babe?”

“ _No_ ,” he says fiercely, pulling away. “I’ll kill Tywin Lannister, who gave the order to sack the capital, who gave the order to kill Elia and her children.”

“And then you will kill Ned Stark? Jon Arryn? Half the small council too, I gather. Hear me now, Oberyn. _That is not the way._ ”

Oberyn clenches his jaw, muscle jumping in his cheek. “And what is the way?” he demands. "You skirt around it, but I know you, brother. Peace is not your goal. ‘We cannot stand another war right _now_ ’, you say, but you know that we can and must, one day.”

“There is a way to honor Elia’s memory,” Doran says quietly. “Stark and the maesters claim Rhaegar annulled his marriage to our sister, but that is no annulment I will recognize. She bore him an heir, and a healthy daughter. Aegon bore Rhaegar’s looks, so there was no infidelity. On what grounds did he annul the marriage? There are none that a true septon would accept.”

“Then the boy-king is a bastard they have seated on the throne,” Oberyn says darkly.

“Come over to the window,” Doran tells him. “Look out at the children playing. Tell me what you see with those viper eyes of yours.”

Oberyn huffs, but crosses to the window. “Naked children playing in the water, like they always do. There’s Arianne, and Tyene.”

“Two children aren’t playing in the water,” Doran says. “What can you tell me about them?”

Oberyn squints against the sun. Doran can feel the exact moment his mind catches on.

“That’s Viserys Targaryen,” he breathes. Oberyn’s hand latches on to Doran’s arm.

“We dyed his hair, you can see. He looks quite different with black hair.”

“I heard Rhaella and her children died at the bottom of the sea,” Oberyn mumbles, face white with shock. “Their ship…”

 _“A_ ship sank, yes. Rhaella died, yes. Her children were already on a Dornish vessel, however. See that babe in the shadows? The woman who holds her?”

Oberyn’s eyes sharpen. “That’s Ashara. Ashara Dayne. And the babe...”

“Ashara was pregnant,” Doran interrupts. “She lost the babe, but that isn’t widely known. The Daynes of Starfall are known for their dark hair and violet eyes. That child she’s holding--her new daughter--is Daenerys of house Targaryen.” Doran takes his brother by the shoulders. “This war is over,” he says, forcefully. “Jon Targaryen, as they call him, though I name him a Blackfyre, will sit the throne with his uncle Lord Stark ruling as his regent. Dorne will accept the king’s peace. We will heal, we will learn, we will take our _time_ , dearest brother. And when the time comes, we will be ready to honor Elia’s memory. We will honor it with fire and blood.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know in a comment below!
> 
> Big thanks to Kal, who encouraged me to write this fic! You're the best <3


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